


All the Stars Align

by eiqhties



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Stars, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiqhties/pseuds/eiqhties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Niall nods, slowly. Still holding Zayn’s hand in his own. Zayn remembers, with remarkable clarity, the first time they did this. The way Niall had been humming, the way he’d automatically calmed Zayn down. Zayn had been so worried, so panicked when earlier had happened. It’s okay now, though. Okay now that Niall’s here, hand in his, the two of them curled up together on Niall’s hotel bed. </i>
</p>
<p>Or; Five times it isn't quite there - and one time after, when it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Stars Align

**One;**

He doesn’t know what it is about this week that’s making him panic so much. It’s there, though – in every word he sings he can feel it clawing away at his throat. At his lungs. Panic so visceral it might as well be a person in the room with them. Might as well be shaking his hand. Dragging him under; dragging him down. Rehearsals have been terrible. Stilted and awkward. There’s been multiple times he’s stopped dead, in the middle of the stage, mouth gaping like a goldfish as he tries to remember the words.

Liam yells at him.

Liam yells at him like Liam rarely yells at anyone but Louis, and Zayn blinks. Snaps his eyes open and shut a few more times. He’s on the stage now. He’s on the stage now, and all four of the other boys are looking at him worriedly. There’s a deep set furrow in Liam’s brow, a frown on Harry’s face, Louis poised, standing tall – like he’s going to ask Zayn a question. Like he’s going to say something that Zayn doesn’t really want to hear.

Niall is there, too, because Niall is always there. Hair too blonde, face too serious. He’s looking at Zayn in a way that he’s never looked at Zayn before. Quiet, introspective. His fringe is sweeping down so that it touches the top of his eyes, and when Zayn looks at him – he finds that he can’t look away.

“C’mon,” He says, walking across the stage until he’s beside Zayn, nudging him in the shoulder, tipping his head towards the door.

“What are you doing, Niall?” Liam says, he looks seconds away from wringing his hands. Looks like he’s second away from storming out, pitching a fit. Liam looks seconds away from flying off the handle.  

“Look, Li,” Niall says, holding up both his hands, “We’re not gonna get shite done if we’re all stressed out. We need to take five or else we’re _all_ gonna forget the lines. You included.” He looks towards their choreographer, who’s been checking their phone for the past few minutes, “That alright with you, bro?”

The choreographer looks up, nods, “I don’t care, do whatever,” he says, “As long as you don’t take too long. We still need to figure out where you’re going to be for the last verse.”  

“Sick,” Niall says, “Sounds alright to me. Back in five, lads?” He looks to each of them, and they all nod. Niall smiles, reaches out, grasps his hand in Zayn’s.

Pulls him away.  

Zayn swallows, looks down at their hands, intertwined. At the way they fit together like he never thought they would. Niall’s hands are slightly smaller than Zayn’s own, more calloused. His hand seems big, now, though. All encompassing. Like it has a gravitational pull. Like there’s something in the dust pulling them together, something in their bodies that clicks like the rocks of planets. Of stars.

Niall has always seemed like the youngest of the group, like the baby. He always seemed like the youngest because Niall is small; quiet at odd times. Sometimes, when people get too close to him he flinches away. Dances out of their touch and breathes a little funny. Sometimes, he’ll come back from a phone call to his dad with wet eyes and shaky hands. Sometimes, Zayn will wake up in the middle of the night and Niall will be sitting there, listening to music, not anywhere near asleep.

Now, though, Niall is walking the two of them confidently outside. His hand is still in Zayn’s, a firm pressure, grounding him. Now, Niall has taken control before any of them fell apart. Now, Niall is smiling softly, pulling Zayn gently. Tugging him back down to earth in a way that Zayn didn’t even know he needed. Niall doesn’t seem very young right now.  

When Niall has finally managed to navigate both him and Zayn out of the building he stops. Seems to be content just to be standing here, in the tiny courtyard, with all its gravel. All it’s city ambience.

It’s sunny, today – though not warm. The pavestone lit up pleasantly, the sky relatively clear. Niall stops, leans against the wall, pulls Zayn with him. Face, tilted up to the sky, eyes shut, he says, “Count backwards from ten.”

“What?”

“Count backwards from ten.” Niall repeats, he still hasn’t opened his eyes,  “‘M serious, sounds stupid – but it’s, like, ninety percent of the reason I haven’t hopped on a plane back to Ireland, yet. You’re getting too focused on what happens if we lose this week, Zayn.”

Zayn opens his mouth, but Niall’s watching him now, and cuts him off, “No, y’are. And, look, I get it – because I want to win this thing a whole fuckin’ lot, but we’re not gonna get through this week if you forget how fantastic you are. Like, holy shit, Zayn. Zaynie, you can _sing_ , man! We’re in the fucking _X-Factor House_. So, like, I don’t know. Stop focusing on what happens if we lose, and start thinking about how sick it will be when we win. C’mon, we get through this week, I’ll take you out for fish and chips after, yeah? On me.”

Zayn lets himself properly relax beside Niall, tilts his head back in the mirror image of the person beside him. Their hands are still pressed tight together. His palm is a little sweaty, and he would be embarrassed about it, but Niall doesn’t seem concerned. He’s humming something softly under his breath, the sun making his hair look even more bright than usual. Golden, almost.

Zayn thinks about how the sun is the largest star in their galaxy. About how appropriate it is that it would light Niall up, make him look ethereal, make him glow. Niall is so fantastic that even the universe makes him loveable.

Zayn counts backwards from ten.

Slowly, he counts backwards, then he breathes out. He feels more settled than he has in days. Like all he really needed was a couple of minutes away from the rest of the world. A couple of minutes away from the rest of the world, and Niall, beside him – their shoulders pressed together.

Without thinking about it, Zayn brings up their still connected hands. Kisses the back of Niall’s softly, says, “Thanks.”

He wants to take it back almost as soon as he did it, doesn’t know what he was thinking, treating Niall like such a girl. Niall’s whole face crinkles up happily, though. Laugh spilling out like he can’t properly hold it in, and he looks up at Zayn from through his eyelashes.

“You’re cute,” He says, laughs.

“You’re cuter,” Zayn smiles, and Niall looks delighted. Swings their joined hands between them a couple of times, before saying,

“C’mon, Malik. You’ve flattered me enough; Liam’s probably had a heart attack in the time we’ve been away.”

Zayn smiles, follows Niall back to the stage.

He smashes the next few rehearsals.

 

**Two;**

They get mobbed the second they step outside the building. Zayn doesn’t know where Liam, Harry and Louis have split off to. Doesn’t know much except for the ringing in his ears, except for the click of camera shutters, except for the fact he can see the way Niall’s tensed. The way the paps are hounding in on him, pressing closer.   

He doesn’t know much, except one second he can see Niall, and the next he can’t. One second he’s got Niall in clear sight, in front of him, shoulders hunched, eyes locked down – the next Niall is on the ground, paparazzi all around him, and Zayn is panicking.

He’s furious, unspeakably angry, shoves his way through the crowd. He pushes into his car as fast as he can, hurling abuse at any of the paps that try to speak to him. At any of the paparazzi that try to get on like they haven’t just committed an unspeakable offense against Zayn. Like he doesn’t feel sick to his stomach. Like they didn’t somehow just manage to tip a star off its axis, like that doesn’t create a black hole in its midst.

Zayn feels like a black hole now, furious, sucking the happiness from everything around him. When a star dies, that’s what it does. When Niall gets hurt, that’s how Zayn feels.

The whole way back to the hotel, he panics. Preston is beside him, more solemn than usual. He doesn’t even say anything about Zayn’s relentless shifting, tapping. Zayn wants a cigarette. Zayn wants a cigarette, a cup of tea, and Niall curled up beside him, safe, okay – not on the fucking ground.  Not on the ground, with the dirt, and the flashing cameras – and an unspeakable weight above him, because Niall is the golden boy. Niall is the one that keeps them all straight, that pulls them all back from the edge of a cliff. He’s restless, there’s only a few more minutes until he gets back to the hotel, but he’s still worried about Niall. Shifting, he pulls out his phone, fires off a quick text;

**To; Nialler  
** you alright man ? fucking shit back there. see you when I get back to the hotel ? xxx

**To; Zayn  
** hahaha was insane !! m ok tho… but yh c u then! dont worry about me ! love u.. x

Zayn reads it a few times. Breathes in and out, tries to dispel the sick feeling in his chest. As soon as the car pulls up to their hotel, he mumbles to Preston about going to Niall’s room, ducks his head down and powers through the fans. Normally he’d feel bad about not even acknowledging them, but right now he’s got other things to worry about. More important things.

The most important thing.

Once inside the hotel, it is, blessedly quiet. He power walks his way to the lift – punching in the number for their floor as fast as he can. He knows, logically, that Niall is fine. He texted him, he’s in the hotel room already. If Niall were anything less than fine, Zayn would know – Zayn would be aware. Zayn would have punched that fucking paparazzi in his goddamned face.

When he gets to Niall’s room, he doesn’t even bother with the formality of knocking. It’s sitting slightly open, as though Niall left it like that for him. He pushes in, sees where Niall is lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling. His phone is beside his head, like he dropped it there and hasn’t moved since.

Zayn looks at him, “You don’t look as fine as your texts said you were, bro.”

Niall doesn’t even flinch, just smiles slightly and gestures for Zayn to come over, “I am,” He replies, “Swear on me mum that I’m alright, like. And you know how Maura gets about swearing.”

“She swears more than you, mate.” Zayn says, amused. Infinitely happier now he can see Niall in front of him again. Can see, physically, that he’s okay. Oversized tracksuit bottoms and all, snapback resting on the bedside cabinet. Sprawled out like sunbeams, like moonlight on his mattress. Niall grins, turns his head to look at Zayn,

“Exactly my point! C’mon. Stop hovering in the door like a twat.”

Zayn grins. Ambles over to the bed, flops himself down beside Niall. Niall’s arms are spread out wide, so Zayn just puts his head on juncture between Niall’s shoulder and his chest. Niall doesn’t even react, just curls his arm around Zayn automatically. Zayn sighs. Presses his face into Niall for just a moment, breathes him in. Allows his heartrate to slow for the first time since he stepped foot outside the airport.

His other hand rests on Niall’s stomach, fingers tapping, gently, until Niall grabs his hand and holds it in his own.

“Jet lagged?” He asks, and Zayn nods.

“Yeah, little. M’tired, like, all the time at the minute.”

Niall nods, slowly. Still holding Zayn’s hand in his own. Zayn remembers, with remarkable clarity, the first time they did this. The way Niall had been humming, the way he’d automatically calmed Zayn down. Zayn had been so worried, so panicked when earlier had happened. It’s okay now, though. Okay now that Niall’s here, hand in his, the two of them curled up together on Niall’s hotel bed.

Zayn brings their tangled hands up to his mouth, kisses the back of Niall’s hand, just like he did way back in the X-Factor house. Niall’s whole face lights up, smile falling into place like it always does,

“You’re cute.” He says, and Zayn grins. Presses another, sloppy kiss somewhere just above Niall’s armpit. Happy that Niall remembered. Happy that they can do this, that they can be close like this. Niall is comforting, calming, a creature of habit in all the best ways. Like the fact that he always uses the same fabric softener on his jumpers. Like the fact that he turns the same way, follows the same pattern around the sun. Niall is a creature of habit in all the best ways, and right now, he has his arms wrapped around Zayn.  

“You’re cuter.” Zayn tells him, then breathes in again, touches Niall carefully. With reverence. Scared he’s going to hurt him, make something worse in some unknown way.

“I was worried,” He admits. An indefinable amount of time has passed, and Niall doesn’t react when Zayn speaks, just exhales a little louder, “Like, when they dragged you to the floor I was ready to punch them.”

“I’m alright, Zayn. Promise. Got you to look out for me, yeah?”

“Always,” Zayn says, Kisses the back of Niall’s hand again, just because.

 

**Three;**

Zayn doesn’t let Niall know that he’s coming over to see him. He doesn’t even really tell himself, not properly. He just talks to Niall on FaceTime one day, questions about the upcoming surgery. He talked to Niall on FaceTime, and saw the way Niall had purple bags under his eyes, worse than he gets on tour, the way Niall wasn’t answering anything properly – avoiding all the talk of how long it would take. How big it was going to be. Zayn had talked to him for twenty minutes, and seen Niall more panicked than he ever had before. More frayed at the seams and out in America. 

Zayn had seen all that, and couldn’t sit around the house anymore, trying to pretend that Niall was going to be automatically fine, that there wasn’t the chance of their being complications. Effects. Zayn had seen how panicked Niall looked, and thought about how the way there’s a day of each month where you can’t see the moon. Zayn had seen how panicked Niall looked, and thought about what the world would be like without the sun. Without the moon.

Zayn had seen how panicked Niall looked, and tells his mum where he’s going. She smiles, gently, kisses him on the cheek, says, “Tell Niall to text me as soon as he can, okay? Give him my love, we’re all worried, yeah, babe?”

Zayn nods, kisses his sisters goodbye, hops on the earliest plane he can.

When Niall opens the door, he blinks, stares silently at Zayn. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t slam the door in his face. Zayn doesn’t know what to make of it, because this is the only time that Niall hasn’t greeted him with an overly enthusiastic hug, with a high five, with _anything_. This is the first time that Zayn has ever felt like an intruder in Niall’s presence, and he never wants to again.

“Surprise?” He says, just for something to break the silence with, and Niall does smile then. He smiles, watery, only slightly – but a smile, nonetheless.

“Y’didn’t say you were coming. I would’ve made up the spare bed for you, or something.”

“Redeye, came as soon as I could, mate. Couldn’t let you rattle about here on your own.”

Niall frowns, a little, “My da and mum are over, not completely on my own, like. Just, well, on my own at the moment, because they’re both off, doing their own thing, but - ”

“But you’re even less on your own, now.” Zayn says, cutting over him.

Niall pauses. Zayn’s still hovering awkwardly on one side of the door, and there’s a beat, a moment, suspended in time. Just a split second, with the two of them looking at each other, Zayn afraid to say anything more. Afraid to say anything more, in case Niall really does slam the door in his face. Only, then Niall’s whole face crumples. Mouth falling down, eyes filling up with tears, he shakes a little, beckons Zayn into the apartment.

Zayn, without even having to think about it, sweeps in, gathers Niall up in his arms as best as he can. Shuts the door and let’s Niall have his moment, uninterrupted. Let’s Niall have his moment.

“I’m a little terrified,” Niall says, wetly, pressing the words into Zayn’s neck. Zayn says nothing, not really, just holds him, arms tight round his back, swaying softly in the hall of Niall’s temporary apartment.

“Shh,” He says, “It’ll be alright,” He says, “You’ll be fine.”

When Niall has calmed down, the two of them sit on the sofa. The television is on, The Simpsons playing on mute in the background. Niall is lying, mainly on Zayn’s lap. Still not saying much. It’s four days before he goes in for the surgery, and Zayn has resolved himself to be around for all of it. Resolved to be around to help Niall in any way he can, with anything he can.

He doesn’t know what it must be like, to be on Niall’s side of things, to be days away from something as scary as a major surgery. Even the word. Major. It’s a major life event. A major surgery. Niall’s whole future rests delicately on this next week, and Zayn doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Doesn’t know what to do, other than to twist his hand gently into Niall’s hair, stroke through it. Pull out any knots, any tats.

Niall lets him, for a few moments, before he stops him. Touches Zayn’s hand, and pulls it out of his own hair. Zayn blinks at him, looks down, at where Niall’s looking up at him, head, still on his lap and says,

“Something wrong?”

Niall says nothing, just holds Zayn’s hand tight between his two own ones. Cradles it to his chest, gently, softly. As though he’s holding a bird that could fly away at any moment. He still doesn’t say anything, but Zayn doesn’t now, either. This moment feels like something, something different. Special.

This moment, with Niall and Zayn, together on Niall’s temporary sofa, Niall in Zayn’s lap. Niall holding Zayn’s hand.

This moment, where Niall brings Zayn’s hand to his lips, kisses the back of it. Looks up at Zayn expectantly. And Zayn laughs, softly, pulls his hand free to stroke back through Niall’s hair again.

“You’re cute.” He says. Twists, leans forward awkwardly until he can press a kiss to Niall’s forehead. “Really cute.”

Niall smiles, too, then. Laughs, softly. Shuts his eyes and says, “M’ glad you think so,” He’s quiet for another moment, and Zayn sits there, breathing in time with him. Waiting for Niall to get the words out, “Will you still think I’m cute if I end up a cripple?”

Zayn blinks at him, “You’re the cutest, Niall,” He tells him, “Always. Definitely the cutest person in my life, like, and you’re competing with Harry Styles, there.”

Niall’s answering smile is bright enough to light the whole of England, “You’re cuter,” He whispers, and Zayn can barely breathe when he looks at him full on.

 

**Four;**

It’s Vegas, and it’s Niall’s birthday, and Zayn is a little tipsy, and a lot high. The two large, rather packed out joints he smoked reacting pleasantly with the six beers he’s drank. He’s at a good level of buzz. Still able to control most of what he’s saying, but loose, relaxed. Easy.

“M’high, bro,” He tells Niall. He’s lying on his back on the floor of their hotel room. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he lay down, but he does know that he’s had enough time to study the whole of the ceiling twice. Enough time to follow all the lines, the cracks, the patterns. Tell Niall that it looks like a galaxy up there.  Niall had laughed, shook his head fondly like Zayn was something different – told Zayn that he’d invent some ceiling constellations for him, pointing at cracks in the paint and proclaiming one to be called,

“Liam’s Arsecrack,” and another to be, “Louis’ Weird Feet,” a third to be, “Harry’s Fuckin’ Yogurt Diets,” and a fourth to be, “Mr Malik’s Eyelashes.”

He’d laughed as he pointed them all out, proclaiming the names with great delight.

Zayn’s laughing, too, head tilted up to where he can make out the bare minimum of Niall. A few tufts of his hair, his leg from the knee down. Niall is lying on the bed, above Zayn. He’s stoned, Zayn can tell, from his slow movement and the way his eyes never fully seem to be open. He’d called Greg, earlier, half drunk and claiming to be homesick, only Greg had called him a, “Fuckin’ header,” and hung up after a couple of minutes.

Zayn isn’t surprised, really, Greg always did have less tolerance for Niall’s babbling than Zayn himself did. He thinks it’s sweet, gentle, even. The way Niall gets when he’s like this is his favourite thing. All heavy and slow, mumbling about space and football and random facts that he’s picked up on his way. Niall has  this crazy brain, he can rattle off numbers and dates and people’s names like it’s nothing. Out of all of them, it’ll be Niall that will remember if they’ve met a fan before, if the interviewer has spoken to them before.

He’s still like it, now. Moved on from ceiling constellations to actual ones. Harry called him an, “Amateur stargazer,” for a year, and Zayn always thought he was taking the piss – but listening to Niall now. Listening to Niall mumble his way through explanations of the star signs, of the cosmos, the only thing he thinks Harry was taking the piss with was the, “amateur” bit of it all.

“I’m gonna buy you a star for your birthday,” Zayn says, “I’ll buy you five stars, call them after your constellations.” Niall laughs, again.

“I didn’t name one of the constellations after myself.” He tells Zayn, “Anyway, all this is for my birthday!” Zayn can’t see what expression he’s pulling, but he can see the way Niall sweeps his arms across the hotel room. Zayn can’t see what expression he’s pulling, and that’s not good enough, because when Niall’s in the room with him, he should be able to see him.

Sitting up blearily, Zayn looks at where Niall is still lying flat on his back, “You’re too far away, babe,” He pouts, “Come here, lie on the floor with me.”

Niall blinks, rolling over so that he can peer over the edge of the mattress. He smiles at Zayn, reaches out a hand dramatically. Reaches down to where Zayn is and says, “I’ll never let go, Zayn.”

Zayn laughs, shakes his head. He regrets it as soon as he does, because it makes the world spin in a way that he’s not entirely comfortable with. Still, he looks up at Niall, at the way, from this angle – the light on the ceiling is illuminating Niall from behind. Lighting him up like he’s an angel. Like one of those pieces of art in the French museums.

He grabs at Niall’s hand as it swoops past him. Laughs, “Does that make you Rose?”

“Of course,” Niall says, blinking, “M’clearly on the raft, mate. You’re the artist. Draw me like one of your French girls.”

He goes to twist away, probably to pose on top of the mattress. Zayn holds fast, though. Keeps a tight grip of his hand, kisses it.

“Oui,” he says, holding his lips there.

“You’re cute,” Niall tells him. Red and happy and giggly. Mouth tilted up in the kind of permanent smile he always has when he smokes with Zayn. Zayn looks at him and thinks about how he wants to remember Niall like this. Here, in Vegas, the two of them together. Zayn watches Niall and thinks about how he probably loves him, a little.

It should feel dramatic, this big clicking of things together in his head. Instead, it feels like stepping outside just after a storm. Like the clouds have passed, that smell coming off the concrete. It feels like waking up.

“You’re cuter,” He tells Niall, “That’s what I’ll name your star.” He says, and Niall grins, beckons him up, patting the space beside him. Zayn goes, pressing himself into Niall’s space, wrapping their hands together again.

 

**Five;**

“So, you’re leaving then?” Niall says, and his face is blank.

Blanker than the time he told them all that Barbara and him were calling it off. Blanker than the time that they drove to hospital after the Amsterdam gig where someone hit his knee. Blanker than the time he told the boys he might be bisexual.

It’s scary, is what it is. Untouchable. Like Niall has anchored himself across the room and Zayn’s the one that flooded it. Zayn’s the one that made it so they can’t reach each other. Touch each other. For someone who devoted a lot of his time trying to make Niall Horan smile, he’s doing a terrible job of it now. 

Niall’s arms are tucked under his armpits, he’s looking at the floor, shaking his head slightly, like he’s in disbelief that any of this is true. Like Zayn’s about to leap up and yell, “Punked!” And Niall will laugh, and then melt downwards, all the strung up tension he’s currently holding leaving him.

None of this happens. Zayn is really leaving.

He nods, silently. Knows that Niall has seen it from the way that he scoffs, chokes out a mockery of a laugh. He shakes his head again, like what Zayn’s telling him is something he can shake away, brush off. For being so remarkably capable, strong, wonderful – Niall is incredibly bad at taking bad news. He shuts down, one blood cell at a time, one centimetre, one second. Each moment that passes, Zayn can see Niall tighten up, coil away from him.

They’ve propelled each other into opposite sides of the room, like they’re opposing magnets. Like Niall’s very energy can’t touch Zayn’s now, the betrayal too deep. Zayn knows Niall, knows him better than he knows almost anyone. Zayn has seen Niall at his highest, at his happiest. Has seen him go from small sixteen year old, skinny and small. To this, this man, with strong arms and serious eyes – and Zayn loved him at the start, and he loves him now.

Niall Horan.

“Thought you loved One Direction?” Niall says, and it’s quiet, and Zayn wants to shake him. Wants to say, I never loved One Direction. Wants to say, I only ever loved you. Loved the boys.

The screws on his ankle seem to be burning, tying him down. Screwing him into the floor. His own version of Harry’s anchor. Niall still isn’t looking at him, and Zayn can’t take it anymore. Can’t take that the distance between them will only get greater. That he’ll go months and months at a time without seeing the way Niall’s laugh ripples through his chest, his throat, out of his mouth.

He crosses the room, and Niall doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk further away from him. Zayn takes his victories where he can, and right now, anything with Niall is a victory.

“You know what I loved,” He says, softly. Gently. Let’s the words float out of his mouth and hang in the air. Niall does look up then, looks up, and meets Zayn’s eyes head on.

Somewhere, out there, in the galaxy, there’s a star called Mr. Malik’s Eyelashes. Another one called You’re Cuter. Somewhere, out there, Niall’s shining stronger than he even knows. Zayn looks at Niall and forgets how to breathe, forgets how to leave. Forgets that tomorrow, he’s taking a plane back to England, back to his mum, his other life. Tomorrow, he’s going – but right now, Niall is in front of him.

Niall is in front of him, breathing, living, crying. And Zayn’s crying too, and they’re crying together wrapped up in each other, and sometimes Zayn forgets how young they actually are. He’s only twenty two. Most people his age have just graduated university, are just starting to figure out where they want to go. Zayn’s twenty two and he’s globally famous. He’s twenty two, and he’s holding onto the love of his life, telling him that he’s leaving.

Niall clutches Zayn’s hands in his own with a desperation that hurts. It hurts to feel. To look at. So real, so within the room it’s painted, neon colours on Niall’s skin. Niall brings Zayn’s hands up to his mouth and he kisses one, then the other, says,

“Don’t forget me.”

And Zayn chokes on it, laughs with it, because the concept of forgetting Niall is foreign to him. The idea that he could ever wash the kisses off his skin. That he could ever rip the stars out of the sky.

“You’re cute,” He says instead, and his voice cracks in the middle. And Niall sniffs, doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t cry any more than he already is. Doesn’t collapse in on himself.

“You’re cuter,” He replies, doesn’t let go of Zayn for the rest of the night. Holds him close, like he’s scared he’s going to disappear in a puff of smoke. In a moment. Zayn doesn’t let go either. Tells himself that any moment could be the last. At any moment Niall could walk out of the door and never talk to him again.

Zayn made the decision to leave the band, but he forgot that Niall would see it as leaving him, too. He didn’t think, didn’t contemplate the consequences of trying to have Niall but not One Direction. Didn’t think that there might be a world where Niall wouldn’t follow him, wouldn’t understand.

They fall asleep on the sofa, tangled up together.

When Zayn wakes up, Niall isn’t holding his hands anymore.

It feels like a sign.

 

**After;**

It’s been a long time since he’s seen Niall, in the flesh. Niall in front of him, hair slightly longer than Zayn’s used to, still the mesh of brown and blonde that he suits so well. Niall, standing in front of him, in ridiculously tight jeans and a massive hoodie and lace up trainers that Zayn knows he’s had for years.

Niall, so close, but so far.

And it’s ridiculous, that they would go a year without seeing each other – skipping past each other on social media, not tweeting each other, texting. All the other boys tried to call, once, twice. Tried to keep in contact, to swing him back into their circle. Niall, though, Niall let him go and then made him _gone._

He wonders if Niall ever thinks about their stars. He wonders how many other people he’s cried on, panicked with. He wonders if Niall ever told anyone else to count backwards from ten. If he ever pretended to be Rose for any other person. Ever clutched at someone like he did with Zayn, that last night. That last time they saw each other.

It’s so stupid, that they’d go so long without seeing each other, so far without seeing each other, and here Niall is, in Hyde Park. Hat tipped over his eyes so that people don’t approach him.

Zayn’s still so in love with him it hurts. Still so unbelievably captivated. Saddened. Zayn’s been in love with him since Niall was sixteen years old. He’s been in love with Niall for seven years. For so much of his life. Niall is a couple of hundred yards away, back to Zayn. Zayn would know him anywhere, though, does know him anywhere.

Without thinking, Zayn starts running.

“Niall!” He says, and Niall stops, turns. Falters.

Niall stops, and stares at where Zayn is jogging to reach him, at where Zayn is, across Hyde Park. Of all the places in the world, in the universe, and they were both in the park, alone, today. It feels like a sign. Like the galaxies pushed this all to happen, like Zayn and Niall were meant to crash together, collide together.

“I missed you.” Zayn says, and he’s awkward about it, jerky movements and an uncomfortable twitch of his shoulders, “Happy birthday,” He says, then, and Niall blinks.

“It’s June,” He says, “June 2016, remember? My birthday’s in September.”

“I know,” Zayn replies, “But I missed it, like. Feel bad. Saying it now.”

Niall smiles, and it’s like there’s light coming back to Zayn’s life. Like the world was okay without Niall, but now it’s amazing, now even the pavements are sparkling, “Happy birthday to you, too, then.” He says, and Zayn laughs. The two of them fall into step together, easy, natural. The same gravitational pull.

Everything in the galaxy revolves around the sun, Zayn thinks. He doesn’t know much about space, but he does know how Niall glows. How Niall lights up any room that he walked into. Does know that they’re outside, right now, in London, and it’s sunnier than he remembers it being all year.

Zayn doesn’t know much about space, but dedicated every song on his first album to ceiling constellations, to the X-Factor, to Las Vegas. Doesn’t know much about space, but he does know that it’s been seven years. Does know that seven is a Holy number, a biblical number. Doesn’t know much about what Niall’s been up to now, but he does know that Niall still laughs the same way, still talks the same way, still falls into Zayn’s space in exactly the same way that he always did.

“I’m in love with you.” He says, stopping Niall mid step and looking at him, wide eyed, “I’ve loved you since the X-Factor. Since the first time you held my hand.”

Niall stops, right there, in the middle of the park, and he lights up. He explodes. In a supernova of light, Niall throws back his head and laughs and says,

“You stupid fucking moron,”

Says, “I love you too, always have,”

Says, “You bought me _stars_ you idiot,”

Says, “You gonna hold my hand again or what?”

And when Zayn takes his hand, it feels like all the planets have aligned. Like every single star is shooting at the same time. Like Zayn made a wish and it finally came true.

“You’re cute,” Zayn tells him, and Niall laughs, kisses Zayn on the cheek, then on the corner of the mouth.

“You’re cuter.” He says. Then kisses Zayn properly. 

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so this is incredibly self indulgent and I dedicate this fic to Katelyn [Katelyn zlall](http://zlall.tumblr.com) because I know how space makes her emotional. Also, on top of this, personal apologies to [Jamie](http://proudliam.tumblr.com) and [Pia](http://kissingziall.tumblr.com) for the two of them getting stressed out at me getting emotional. 
> 
> Zayn and Niall hand holding is my Achilles heel, who would have thought it. (Probably everyone, I talk about it a lot.) 
> 
> Anyway, this is an alternate universe where Perrie and Zayn in a relationship/engagement/PR stunt/whatever never happened, only because I _completely_ forgot about it, and I'm raging I did, but, yeah. Sorry. Oops. (Hi.) Title of this fic is taken from, "Once in a Lifetime" by One Direction themselves because I've completely lost the ability to name things creatively anymore. 
> 
> Finally, I have no beta and I wrote this mainly first thing in the morning and last thing at night in _one day_ (new record for me, please appreciate) - so any and all mistakes are my own. I'm very sorry, if you see them, please -send me an angry message about them @[niallhiran](http://niallhiran.tumblr.com)


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